i worry about god sometimes

there are times in my life--all too frequently, it seems--when one thing starts to get hammered home into my consciousness. this happens most in epochs of my life, it seems. for instance, when i was in zambia, it was the simple exhortation to trust: trust me, trust my son, trust my provision, trust my leading, trust me to blow your mind and change your plans and rock your world, because i'm going to do it anyway and you might as well enjoy the ride. in china, it was that he had already overcome, that the stomach ache i had and the difficulties in language barriers and the tears that constantly prickled at the back of my throat because a country of one billion people who were effectively blocked from ever hearing about jesus were transitory, that he had already taken care of it, that a brighter future opened ahead, he was god of this city, this nation, this world, and he would reign. in romania, it was service to others; stop putting yourself ahead, be humble, obedient, submissive, look for how you can serve others, amen. at cyia, it's nearly always about jesus, about meditating on who and what he was and is and will be, all the beauty of the cross and the empty tomb and the reigning king, sovereign above all.

and lately, it's been all about resting in christ. about trusting his grace. about knowing that he is god, above all, beyond all, and i don't have to fear because he is so.

fear not, for i am with you;

be not dismayed, for i am your god;

i will strengthen you, i will help you,

i will uphold you with my righteous right hand

(isaiah 41:10)

i always think that maybe i'm about to figure life out, that all of this will begin to make sense. it never does, sadly, and i'm starting to think that this thing they call adulthood is simply a series of half-informed decisions, bumbling against each other and getting all mixed up because nobody is quite sure where to put their feet. and i guess that's okay (after all, if everybody's screwing up as much as i am, that makes my mistakes okay, right?). so here i sit, contemplating whether i should go to school or not, what i'd go to school for, whether it would be a waste of more money than it was worth, whether the organizations i'm working with are where i'm supposed to be, whether i'm supposed to stay in my hometown. oh yeah, and i have a boy now. so that's exciting.

i have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace.

in the world you will have tribulation.

but take heart: i have overcome the world.

(john 16:33)

amid all this, god continues to tell me to rest in him. that he has it. that all things work together for good to those who love him, who are called according to his purpose. and i am called, and i love him. and so all things will work together for good, every snarly problem and unfamiliar emotion and misstep and hard decision. resting in him brings its own rewards--i can focus on every kid in my clubs, i can love my boyfriend and my family and my church and free myself from worry. live in eucharisteo every day. it's more fun that way--even if constantly being told to rest is a little worrying, because precisely what is about to happen?

- kyla denae

prayer without words

she presses into me, small limbs still overflowing my far-too-narrow lap. too narrow because i want to gather her up and never let her go, i want to rock her until she's forgotten whatever made her so desperate for this much love, this attention she craves from all of us but most especially me. i've become her favorite, this little dark-haired, winsome eyed girl with the too-jaunty smile, the ecstatic hugs and the quiet looks that let me know this one isn't any different from the others here.

she's been through the fire, and she's survived.

so i sit behind her on the floor, let her press herself into me even though i probably shouldn't--someone will get upset with me, surely, think i'm breaking rules--but this is the ranch, where kids are sent to be loved into knowledge of god's grace and their true potential. so she presses herself inward, the beat of my heart feeling loud and hard under her head. her hair rasps against my chin, the neat braid with its little flower, pressing into my cheek when i rest it on top of her head.

she curls her sparkly converse boots closer against my legs, pulls my arm around her. i pray for her, almost on reflex, pray love and healing and whatever else she needs into the tiny body that's wrapped itself against mine. the prayer is not so much words as simple impressions--as if by simply forming the intent of words in my mind, they will become so (but isn't that truly prayer without ceasing; sending every thought, like a rare bird, toward god, bringing every one of them into the substance of something worth going before the throne?).

in that moment, with the little ball of warmth against me and the unspoken prayer and the constant reminder that she should listen to the teacher instead of playing with my fingernail--or at least more obviously multi-task--i think i could do this forever. i could sit on a hard floor that's barely covered by ancient blue carpet, surrounded by kids who've been through things i could never imagine, for the rest of my life. i could do this, could pray prayers without words, could smile and laugh and gently guide, could pray some more when it seems nothing's going right.

and in that moment, i feel my heart open a little more, my dreams and hopes and plans flying away a bit more properly. i am content, i suppose, is what i'm trying to say. content to stay here, to love on what's in front of me, to pray the words that must be prayed. and i imagine this feeling will go away at some point and i'll be left desperately wanting out of my hometown, away as far as i can get, to the reaches of the earth, in places i can't speak the language and don't know how to eat the food...but for now, i am content with whatever is in store.

- Kyla Denae

new year (pt 2)

it's been months since i last wrote here. i wish i could say that during that time i'd figured out some magical formula for True Happiness, that i'd managed to achieve greatness, write a book, travel the world, that that hand had come down and written great things for me.

life doesn't seem so easy. and don't think i'm going to be all gloom-and-doom in this post, because i'm not.

today, the preacher at my church talked about a lack of new year's resolutions. how only 8% or so of people keep their resolutions in any given year. how we try and fail and eventually just get so discouraged that we make the paradoxical resolution to not make any resolutions at all, come what may, and spell our own failure out in the guise of our success. instead, he proposed, we should change our environments. environments--the ways and surroundings in which we live our lives, the patterns we style ourselves after--change us. we have to acknowledge that, he said, recognize it. then we have to decide to do something about it.

that got me to thinking, as it usually does (a nasty habit; i'm trying heartily to ingrain it in my consciousness), and i wondered if perhaps environments weren't so much our actual surroundings--our houses, the people we hang out with, our coworkers, our day job, our fantasies, the books we read, movies we watch--but rather a state of mind. the state of mind that made a difference between saul the religious zealot and paul the christ-follower, abram the stable nomad and abraham the man who crossed continents to follow god, peter the fisherman and peter the evangelist.

perhaps all that is needed to change our lives isn't a radical five-step plan. maybe we don't need some kind of fancy planner, or a self-help coach, or the benefit of a shelf full of books about becoming a better person (TM). at the risk of sounding trite (and potentially acting like i'm forgetting that there are real problems that can arise that can't be wished away i'm not that naive thank) is the simple acknowledgement that yes, i don't know what i'm doing. but that's okay. because every day i have a chance to do whatever i think is best, letting god guide my steps...and the only thing i can control about most of that is my attitude about my choices and the decisions that face me.

i'm reading the book one thousand gifts for a bible study i do with some ladies from my hometown. not only is it an absolutely phenomenally written book, which is always a plus, but she dares to propose something i'd never heard before: that thankfulness, thanking without ceasing, being in a state of everyday gratefulness, is powerful. she phrases this idea as eucharisteo, the act of remembering and thanking god. it is the word from which we gain eucharist, the last supper, the meal that reminds us of christ's sacrifice. eucharisteo, the thankful remembering of what god has given us, every day, every moment, every single breath that passes. joy is so often found linked with thanksgiving in the scriptures, as ann points out--the leper, the messiah, people throughout the ages who found their joy where they found thanksgiving.

and i wonder. is it that all that's come before can be made better--or, at least, not so daunting--if i take care to find the joy in it? if i seek eucharisteo wherever i am?

so yes. hi there. i'm kyla. i'm nineteen years old, living with my parents, and my car perpetually seems a few stray bolts shy of being shaken apart on the interstate. my plans have gone horribly askew. i'm back at the fast food job i left a year ago, having come little farther in my life. i have never found true love, not even the beginning glimmers of it. i blush too much. i have a propensity to use profanity. my talents are scarce, scattered, a layer of mediocrity in a world where you have to shine bright like a diamond. 

i'm kyla. i'm nineteen years old, getting the chance to live with my family for a few more precious months, see my parents every day, kiss small children, wake up late and yawn into a familiar bedroom full of things that are a jumbled mess of mine and theirs. i have managed to find steady employment, i am making money, i am planning and praying and hoping and waiting.

and this year, the only thing i can truly control is my attitude, my every day eucharisteo, my inner environment. and so i suppose that is the one grand thing i have to tell you all after three months of silence. my new year's resolution is to change my environment, paradox and all.

- Kyla Denae

and a little child shall lead them

sometimes, i get really confused. i start worrying. like now, for instance. i was supposed to have quite a big chunk of my internship funds raised by now, the end of july. for those of you not in the loop, i'm working at child evangelism fellowship this summer as one of the local interns. it's been an adventure, and i'm having quite a bit of fun. it's just...money. fundraising is not my favorite thing. i don't think it's anybody's. and i'm stressing (just the tiniest bit) about that, though i'm giving it to god and letting him take care of it.

last week, i went to camp good news, which is a camp in oklahoma run by one of my teachers from cmi. i came home to some stuff that i'd not expected, stuff that's been in my family for a long while, but is beginning to manifest in new and exciting ways.

can you sense the sarcasm here

i hope so

i'm being really sarcastic

it's not exciting

it sucks

i hate drama

anyway

i came home to this, and i'm sitting here thinking, god, you said you were gonna take care of me this summer. you were very clear about how this internship was where i was supposed to be. i wanted to go to thailand, and you said no, god, and i know there was a reason, but i'm having a bit of trouble seeing it right about now. god, i'm confused. i don't know where i'm supposed to go. am i supposed to go finish out my internship down south, or am i supposed to stay in amarillo for another year. am i supposed to help do good news clubs or am i supposed to get a job and be a good little member of the workforce. am i supposed to buy a car and get my own place or buy a car and stay where i'm at or am i supposed to go hunting me a husband and hope you work it all out.

another thing i hate

adulthood

it's full of all sorts of problems that my nine year old conception never did see

curse you unrealistic expectations about life

i could go on and on about my young adult angst, but it would bore you, so i shan't. to make a long story short, i'm confused and trying to figure out god's will in the midst of much weirdness. i'm in way over my head, and i just want out of most of it, and i'm unable to be.

at camp this past week, there was this little girl in the bible class i was teaching. on the second day at camp, she came to me and told me that she knew she'd believed in jesus, but she wasn't sure if she still was, because she'd done some wrong things and she didn't always feel that god was with her. one of my favorite promises in the bible is found in hebrews 13:5--it says, "for he has said, i will never leave you nor forsake you." it's a beautiful promise, full of truth and wonder and the awe-inspiring idea that out of all his creations, out of all the things there are to love, out of all the majesty and beauty that fills the universe, god chose to love me, to tear out a part of himself and sacrifice it, for me, and with that knowledge comes the idea that i'll never able to do anything that will drive god away from me.

so i shared that verse with jaylin. i told her what it means, what god has promised to us. and every day after that, i heard her repeating the promise. she told everyone she met. she put a marker in her bible at that verse and opened to it every chance she got. it was what she shared at testimony night. she made up a song with the words, so she could repeat to herself every chance she got the promise that "i will never leave you nor forsake you." to her, that was the most important thing of camp, the most important thing about god. the only important thing about god.

and so, as i sit here surrounded by a bunch of stuff i can't comprehend and can't see my way through, i am humbled by the faith of a little child. the faith that will accept something so earth-shattering as "god is never going to leave me ever" and translate it into a song and into a chant that is repeated to oneself over every meal and before every bedtime and to everybody i meet. i am left in awe at the sort of faith that can accept that so completely, and i know beyond a doubt that i want that faith, that that faith is something to be reached for.

so i'm going to reach for it. i'm going to trust that promise--that even when i can't see my way, even when everything's cloudy and weird and beyond my wisdom, god's got me. he will never leave me. he's sealed me in the palm of his hand. he's three hundred steps ahead of me, scouting out my life decades in advance. 

for he has said

i will never leave you nor forsake you

so we can confidently say

the lord is my helper

i will not fear

what can man do to me

hebrews 13:5-6, ESV

- Kyla Denae

going stir-crazy

Next Tuesday, it will mark the one-year anniversary of the last overseas missions trip I took. One year since I left the States for Romania. Fourteen days beyond that will be the one-year for being in the States mark.

And, in a way, it makes me sad.

I know that God wants me here for something. I know that my work here is important, that working in the local CEF chapter here in my hometown is important. That there are kids here who need to hear the Gospel. That I'm following God's will--at least, as much of it as He's revealed to me so far.

But...

I don't want it to be God's will for me to be here. I want to go someplace. I want to feel the press of g-forces as a plane takes off beneath me, carrying me thirty thousand feet up into the air. I want to be on my way to someplace on another continent, with strange smells and different foods and beautiful languages. I want to be running through an airport, trying to find an eatery with somewhat affordable food so that I can eat before I get on the plane. I want to have colorful money in my hands that crinkles oddly and shines when I hold it up to the light. I want to learn how to twist my tongue around the words of a new 'hello'. I want to see dark little hands put into mine. 

I want to run through a weed-infested churchyard, chasing a Romanian five year old who's challenged me to a game of tag. I want to walk through an African compound with a child on my back as we head home from church. I want to be in a Chinese high school where the beds are made of wooden slats and I don't have the option of a fork. I want to stare down from a plane window at the Sahara Desert, or the Pacific Ocean, or the soaring mountains of Germany. I want to stand below Big Ben, and walk along the fence of Westminster Abbey. I want to stand in an airport terminal and press my nose against the window and try to see beyond the fence that surrounds me. I want to go into a mall and feel that relief at air conditioning. I want to hug an orphan whose teeth flash white from a dusky-dark face.

I want to feel the press of a hand from someone who's just heard the Gospel for the first time. I want to see a smile from a child who's hanging upside down from a rusted carport, and know that as I smile we're communicating, even though he doesn't speak a word of English and I can't say more than three words in Romanian. I want to be able to sit next to an old woman and watch her prepare a meal for her family, knowing that words aren't needed, because we're sitting here, listening to the village celebrate the miracle of Christ. Words aren't needed. Our English and Nyanja is sufficient, because we don't need to use it.

I want all these things.

But I don't need them.

I know I don't need them. I know that there's something in this time here, firmly in the States, sitting behind a desk, reaching out to little kids who, more often than not, are of precisely my skin tone, that God has to show me. I know that He will use this time. I know He has appointed it. I know that He's going to reveal this whatever-it-is to me in His perfect time. I know that, when He does, I'll understand (at least in part), and I'll be the better for it.

But it's hard. And perhaps it shouldn't be. Because, everyday, God is revealing to me just how deep the hurt runs right here in my country, in my hometown. How deeply some of these children are hurting. How much of them simply need to be pulled into a bear hug and told how much He loves them.

So yes, travelling overseas is thrilling. I doubt my heart for international missions is going to go away anytime soon (at least, I hope not, because that would be sad). But for now, I'm working on being content right where I am. Giving my life up for the One who gave up His own.

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.

Jeremiah 29:11

- Kyla Denae

falling in love with jesus

There's something about serving others. About reaching out to people who may have never heard the Gospel. About sincerely, genuinely getting down to a child's level and simply showing them how much you care. There's something about it that lifts the fog of a world that's broken and hurting, and for a few simple, beautiful moments, shows the wonder that Jesus brought to earth.

This year at Christian Youth In Action© (a training camp Child Evangelism Fellowship© holds around the country to train teenagers how to effectively share their faith), I was a team leader for the first time. My team and I, consisting of two fourteen year old teenagers, went to a Boys' and Girls' Club, community centers that bring in kids during the year and teach them respect, discipline...or, at least, attempt to.

Community center 5 Day Clubs are always difficult. A lot of the kids in these places come from broken or troubled homes. Both of their parents--or their only parent--have to work all day long, and so the kids get bundled off to these budget daycare facilities, because it's all they can afford during the summer. The school systems are, very often, failing these kids spectacularly. They're faced with parents who don't care, or are abusive, or try really hard but can't make ends meet. Many of them have absent fathers--some because their fathers are in jail, some because their dad just up and disappeared one day. Some, the ones who really break my heart, have different daddies than their siblings, and their mom has a new guy these days.

As a consequence of all these factors, many of these kids have behaviour problems. Respect is earned, not freely given. And it can only be earned very, very slowly, by continually pouring into their lives. Everyone else has left them; the chances of your doing so, in their eyes, is extremely high. They see no need to listen to some teacher they don't know. Add into this a racial divide that's still very much alive in some of these places, and it becomes downright impossible.

We walked into this community center, and I could only glance back at my team and say one of those quick "dear Jesus, please help us," prayers. Neither of my team was particularly prepared for the challenge presented by these kids. One of my team members was a second-year in our program. He's a great teacher, but he's also very focused. He has to focus entirely upon his lesson, or he'll lose it...and the discipline problems in this club didn't help the whole focus thing. My other team member was a first-year, a little fourteen year old girl who's almost whiter than I am, with perfect hair and nails and a bit of germophobia.

To say that I was a bit nervous about the outcome of this club would be an understatement. I could handle it. But I was the team leader. My job was to sit in the back of the room, observe, write things down on sheets of paper, and pray really hard that my team wouldn't tank. Okay, maybe that last bit isn't technically on the job description, but it fits. So that's what I did. For five days, I helped how I could, I gave pointers, I prayed for my team, and I loved the kids in our club. I loved them with every bit of me.

It was a hard club, I'll tell you that. My team wasn't quite sure what to do with them. Some of them smelled bad, and my poor little germophobe didn't know what to do with them. Some of them wouldn't sit down for love or money--or, what was more immediate, the promise of candy. Some of them were attentive and got as close as they could to the teacher. Some could answer every question at the end, but during the lesson looked as if they weren't listening at all...and did their hardest to distract everyone around them. My team wasn't quite sure how they were supposed to love these kids. How just standing up and teaching them a lesson constituted loving them at all. How they were supposed to reach into these kids' lives and make a difference.

How, in short, loving them was at all possible.

They're smelly.

They don't pay attention.

They're disrespectful.

They make snide comments about us.

They hate us.

Slowly, I got them to look past that...or, at least, attempted to. Yes, they're disrespectful. But God made them, and loves them. And it is here that loving others and loving Jesus intersects. Telling people about Christ--especially children, who Jesus loved above all others--seems to bring Jesus from the past, from the realm of abstract intellectual knowledge, and makes Him a present, living reality.

Christ lived and died. 

For each and every one of these smelly, disobedient kids. 

Christ gave His blood. 

For each child who turns around in their chair while they're supposed to be listening. 

Christ came alive again. 

For each child who complains as he's being led into the classroom on day three. 

When I really make an effort to think about the sacrifice Jesus made, about how much he suffered just for the love of sinful, horrible people who were, in that very moment, nailing him to one of the most brutal torture implements ever devised by human imagination, it's hard to ever despise the people you're trying to tell about Him. It makes it difficult to say bad things. It makes it difficult to undervalue those who've never heard that He did, in fact, make that sacrifice.

And as I ponder it, this incredible, immense sacrifice that was made on my behalf, it makes me fall in love, too. It makes me realize that, as I am loved, as Christ loved me, so these children are loved. And that's why the end of a 5 Day Club always makes me cry. Why I can only pray during our last few minutes with them, praying life and love and hope over them, praying for those who came so close to a knowledge of the Savior during the five days, yet still fell short of quite getting it, of fully grasping it, of understanding the truth we'd been pouring into their lives.

Yesterday, I was reading in 1 Peter. I was actually studying for a lesson, but then my eye landed on this, and it so perfectly sums up the reason I do what I do.

Knowing that you were not redeemed with corruptible things... but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot. He indeed was foreordained before the foundation of the world, but was manifest in these last times for you who through Him believe in God, who raised Him from the dead and gave Him glory, so that your faith and hope are in God.

I am not redeemed by anything I can do, with corruptible things that will pass away. My deeds cannot ever atone for the other deeds I've done, can't begin to cover the sin I've committed. Yet Christ came, a lamb without any defect. He knew this would happen, eons before it came to pass. And yet He still came. He came to earth and died. He came to earth and came alive again, to be a testament for us, to make a new covenant forged under his blood, by his suffering.

And now my faith and hope are in Him, in His Father. And that is why I go to these places where the kids are tough and hurting and broken. It's why I go into a sick, broken world. Because I know the One who heals all hurts. And can I sit by and simply not take it? 

I've fallen in love with Jesus. Totally, irrevocably, utterly in love with Jesus. I love Him who first loved me. And now I can't help but speak of this faith and hope that He has given me.

- Kyla Denae

perfectly laid plans

this post was originally written in the late months of 2010, just after I'd been accepted to go to China. I found it in one of my old notebooks, and liked it so much that I felt the need to share it. It's also rather relevant to my situation now, so that's nice.

I have  come to a realization: It doesn't matter what I want, God is going to blow my plans away.

You see, until recently, I had a plan. This November I was going to get a job. Next summer, I was going to maybe intern at CEF, though my thoughts mainly went along the line of maybe taking a summer off from money concerns, beefing up my bank account a little so I could buy a car and stuff. 2012 would come and I'd start fundraising for a trip to China.

Perfect, right? The most amazing balance of 'Jesus-work' and 'me-work'. Yup, just peachy.

Until God dumped this organization into my lap. It started innocently enough. I wanted to find a video of a Zambian praise song. Well, I found one...and a whole bunch more. Navigating to the webpage of this organization--Global Expeditions--I was thrilled to discover they had an opportunity for China. Great. You know, maybe as a survey trip in 2012...

no.

now.

or at least, next year.

2011.

you, china.

And there went my perfect plan.

So here I sit, contemplating massive mysteries. Mysteries like--"Why can't I have my perfect life?" (I'd be miserable), "Why now?" (because there's no time like the present), "How will I raise $4,000 in less than a year?" (Jehovah owns the cattle on a thousand hills. He has it covered) and, most importantly, "Why me?"

This one I've contemplated many times over the ten years my call has been present. I am a 5"7, redheaded, mayonnaise-white Texan who likes hot cocoa and hates dirt, loves culture but hates breaking out of her comfort zone...

I have to wonder...is God quite sure I'm the right one?

Someone once told me that God only calls those He knows are the ones for the job. God has something for me to do. I have no idea what, but apparently there's something. Even if that "something" is one soul, one life, one changed moment...well, that's enough for me. And in the end, God's plans always turn out way more awesome than mine do, anyway.

- Kyla Denae

i will decide what to do once i decide

There's this really funny thing about my future that I'd like to share with you. I'm never quite sure what's going to happen in it.

Now, I'm fairly certain what's going to be happening with me for the next four or five months, at least at this point. I'm going to be working, and then attending the Children's Ministry Institute. After that...well...I'm not quite sure.

I usually take long missions trips in the summers, or at least I have for the past three summers. I've been to three different continents and come home to my own. I've made friends in three countries, friends who have often gone back home to even more countries--from China to Taiwan and Canada and Mongolia, from Zambia to South Africa and Zimbabwe, from Romania to Hungary and Germany.

But for the first time since I was fourteen, I'm not planning on...anything. At this point, anything after April is one big, fat question mark. And even said question marks looks vaguely confused, like it was drawn by a kid with ADHD who's just gone on a massive sugar binge and can't draw straight to save his life. In other words, I'm really, really (really) not sure what's going to be happening in my life.

And the funny thing is, I'm really okay with that. I'm okay with not stressing about where I'm going to get the money to meet my deadlines, and having to buy clothes to go overseas, and not having to worry about visas and passports and plane tickets and what happens if my plane goes down and I land on a deserted island with polar bears and ominous messages left random places with Others living on the island that all the survivors have to learn to live with and eventually we'll all die and end up in some light-infested afterlife-esque scenario. That sounds eerily familiar. But you get my point.

And even though I'm still having to worry about money (I'm not freaking out I'm not freaking out I'm not freaking out omw i've got to have $3,000 more by January 23 what is happening my life is spinning out of control help), and I'm still going to have to buy new clothes, and there are problems of transportation to worry about--real, genuine concerns, all of them--it's refreshing, in a way. I have something to worry about that doesn't involve culture shock and new foods and strange languages. I don't have to worry that I'll mispronounce a word this summer and end up in a duel that will end my life. You know.

At the moment, my life is so shaping itself that I'll be at home next summer, working with our local Child Evangelism Fellowship branch, being the summer missions coordinator and reaching out to the community in my hometown. And even though I still long to be a missionary overseas, and I still want to go back to China, and there are so many places I want to travel to and experience...I'm okay with that. I'm okay with staying put, with trusting God that He's got the plans this time. Because if there's one thing I most definitely don't want to do, it's go against Him just because I've got this agenda, this idea that I have to go somewhere every summer and reach people for Him.

Right now, Amarillo is quite a big enough mission field. It's not the most glamorous, attention-grabbing job. I'm not going to have any eyes popping or excited 'wows' as I tell people that yes, I'll be staying home and helping teenagers run 5 Day Clubs while trying to get new Good News Clubs lined up, and would you like to help us?, but I truly think that's what God has for me this time around. 2014 might be different. Hey, summer 2013 might even end up shaping differently than I expect. Because if there's one thing I've definitely learned about my God, it's that he delights in springing surprises on people (I get this idea that God likes to craft delicious surprises for us, and he sprinkles them throughout our paths, and just waits to watch us open them. As we get closer and closer to what he's planned, he starts getting ever more excited, like a grandparent who knows his present is waiting at the bottom of the stack, and just can't wait to see the delight on his grandchild's face. And the minute the child actually opens it, he's almost as excited as the kid because, wow, look at how happy he is. I think if God is just as awesome and wonderful as the Bible says, he has to get a kick out of how happy he can make us...that, and he has a sense of humor).

But if that happens, and I get a delicious surprise, whether it be a call in the middle of the night that hey, we'd quite like you to come stay with us for three months, could you arrange to get a flight to Thailand in the next three days?, or if it's a simple, friendly call from someone I've not seen in awhile...I'm quite sure I'll thoroughly enjoy it.

And if I don't, I'm sure I'll enjoy that, too. Because why are we put where we are but to enjoy it?

- Kyla Denae

loving jesus beyond all reason

sometimes, i just get to this place where i realize how truly amazing jesus actually is.

like, i know he's amazing.

i always know that.

but sometimes, i'll just be sitting there

listening to music

or reading

or studying

or in a lull at work

or about to drift off to sleep

and it'll hit me.

jesus died for me

God of the universe

creator

holy

beautiful

outside of time

outside of space

big

impossible

amazing

all-powerful

all-knowing

just

possessor of all things

that God

he came to earth

and he was born as a baby

and he grew up like a mortal man

and then he died.

think about that.

just let it sink in.

God can't die.

no god can die.

even the greeks couldn't truly kill their gods.

the idea that gods of any form or fashion can die is a relatively newfangled fashion

arisen from the atheistic idea that there's nothing outside of us

that we are gods.

but this God did die

and he didn't just die because he thought it'd be interesting

he died for a purpose

for a reason

for a person

he died for you

he died for me

he died for the lost

the broken

the powerful

the needy

the unknown

the wealthy

the sick

the hopeless

the hopeful

God of the universe

the everlasting

came to an end.

that's not the end of the story, of course.

because what a dull story.

the good guy always wins

everybody knows that

as Satan rejoiced--his enemy dead--something was stirring

and a stone rolled away

the brilliance of a heavenly being made two soldiers fall over in a dead faint

and jesus came alive again.

his death saved us from the consequences of our sin

his resurrection freed us from the power of sin.

and it was all paid for.

and he did that for us.

even though we are what we are.

so sometimes, i get to this place where i realize how truly amazing jesus is.

and it just takes my breath away.

and i can't do anything but just sit, and think, and stare into space and marvel.

because i am loved beyond all reason

and i can't help but answer that love in kind.

- Kyla Denae

bursting with passion

Have you ever heard that saying--or, at least, some variation thereupon? I love listening and watching people talk about the things they're passionate about. Their eyes get wider, their voice speeds up, its pitch arcing toward the ceiling, their hands begin to move, and their whole body strains as if it will fly up along with their voice, every fibre of their being straining with the pure feeling they have about this thing.

I love having that feeling, too. I love feeling as if I'm full up to bursting...though sometimes, the expression on the face of the person I'm talking to ruins it. Sometimes (actually pretty often), people laugh, as if embarrassed by the warmth of your feeling, and they look away. No, they are embarrassed. And that's sad.

Because what's wrong with feeling passionate about something? What's wrong with expressing it? Why should it embarrass us to be utterly open about the things that move us, that make our hearts beat and our feet move and our voices speak and sing and shout? Because on an emotional, raw level, the things we care about are the things that keep us alive. So why is it that, sometimes, we try to hide those things, as if they're shameful?

So let me tear off my own cloak for a moment.

i am passionate about souls.

there.

i said it.

Sometimes, when I get to thinking about the world, and how big it is, and how many people live in it, and all the places that are so beautiful, and all the children who need a mother, and all the mothers who need some hope, and all the fathers who need some help, and all the souls that need Christ, I get to feeling so full up of feelings that I simply want to burst.

And I want to reach out to all of them, all at once so badly that it hurts. And not just an "oh, that touches my heart, ouch, why do I have to feel guilty and all these things" sort of hurt. I mean a raw, deep, visceral, physical hurt. And even though it hurts, even though it leads to this feeling that I'm been chosen for something that's impossible, that I'll never be able to reach out to all those people who need Christ, I love it.

I love it because it means I'm alive. I love it because it means God's not done with me yet. I love it because it means I've got a purpose for living here, that I've got work to do, that until the day I die I will have something to do. I won't be bored, because God's got plans. And in the meantime, I have this burning passion, deep inside, just waiting to be translated into action, one problem at a time.

So tell me--what is it that you're passionate about? What makes your heart beat faster? What makes your heart beat, period? I really do want to know.

- Kyla Denae

carrying a message

One time I had a little kid ask me one of those really deep, philosophical questions that no little kid has any business asking. You know the ones--things just come out of their mouth, and you're left standing there, staring in shock down at their little faces, tipped back to you with a shy, sincere little smile, confident of the answer that you, their teacher/sister/older-person-at-the-moment will have a satisfactory answer for them. And then you just sort of stand there like, "uhhhh...where did that come from again why i don't understand even i don't have thoughts like that why is it that children are shown things not fair asdfjkl;"

Anyway. The question in this instance was very simple, and I actually had an answer for it, though I wasn't quite sure how to deal with it at the time.

why can't we go be with God right now?

do we have to die first?

and if so, why?

doesn't dying hurt?

why can't God just take us to heaven right now?

doesn't he love us?

Yes, he does. He loves us more than any of us can imagine. So why, exactly, does he want us to stay here on earth, in the midst of so much depravity and heartache and just plain stupidity? Why can't he take us to heaven--and since we know he can, technically, why doesn't he? Surely that would be simpler, removing his people permanently from the world?

Instead, we're supposed to live in a world that is not our home, in a place that is ruled by the Prince of the powers of the air, a place where disease and starvation and corruption and sin run rampant, where people kill people and justify it, where children get caught in the middle of armies and armies run roughshod over their people, where we can never hope to escape from the things we know to be wrong. So why? Why is it that God expects us to stay here? Wouldn't our Christian life be more pure if we were removed from all that?

Well, of course. And God could take us to heaven, and we could live with him the moment we believed in Christ. But God doesn't do something--or neglect to do something--just because. There's always a purpose. It may be difficult to see. But there is a reason, and there is one here. I believe it can be found in 2 Corinthians 5, verse 20.

Now then we are ambassadors for Christ...

An ambassador is a person tasked to take a message for their home country to a foreign one. They are the public face of their nation in the foreign country, the one that brings the two parties together and links them, leads them to a bridge where common ground can be found. To understand just how amazing this task as an ambassador is, and what its purpose for the Christian is, let's look at the verses that come just before.

And all things are of God, who has reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ, and has given to us the message of reconciliation; that is, that God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses to them; and has committed unto us the word of reconciliation.

Through Christ, we have been reconciled to God--which basically means we've become his son in his eyes. We have been given the righteousness of God the Son, have been transformed and converted from the inside out, radically changed from a sin-laden state to a glorious life of freedom. We have been brought into harmony, our debt has been mitigated, God's sense of justice has been appeased, we have been reunited with God. And now, it is our job to be ambassadors, to take the message of reconciliation, of this radical change, to the rest of the world.

Put simply, the reason God has changed us and we are still here on earth is because he's not finished with us yet. We have a purpose. We are supposed to carry a message--the most important message in the universe.

- Kyla Denae
full disclosure: 99% of this post was inspired by a missionary to Alaska, Bro. Carter, who came through our church last night and preached on this passage. It was amazing, and I wanted to share. So there's that.

i'm sure those people over there can help

What doth it profit, my brethren, though a man say he hath faith, and have not works? can faith save him? If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, And one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit? Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone. - James 2:14-17

I have heard this verse taught many times. We're supposed to take care of the poor, those who are unable to take care of themselves, etc. It's taken by the left to mean that we're supposed to steal from people to give their money to other people. It's taken by more conservative members of the Christian community to mean we're supposed to send aid to other countries, to places where people are starving and, maybe--in a pinch--to that homeless shelter down the street. In whatever way this idea manifests itself, there's always one thing that is central to it: we are, in some way, supposed to care for the less fortunate members of our own community.

It is odd, however, that the execution of this idea doesn't seem to extend to those people that are truly our brothers and sisters... that is, those people who sit next to us in the church pew, drift their way through our buildings, and then return to their homes. Many times, we're none the wiser about what our fellow Christians are going through. And, if we are, there's this sort of conversation:

"Sally and her husband are going through some real trouble. Joe's gonna have to have some surgery. They really need prayer."
"They have those three kids, don't they? And a baby on the way?""Yeah. But I heard that there's a new government program; if they apply for it, they can get medical assistance, which should help them feed those kids."
"I'll pray they'll be able to get into that program, then. It would be a shame if they had to sell their house or ended up being homeless!"

I have seriously heard exchanges almost exactly like this one many times in churches, between members of a Christian community. There seems to be this idea in America that, if we fall on hard times, the government will take care of us. After all, what are we paying taxes for? Surely the government can help out!

And so, to all intents and purposes, we look at these brothers and sisters of ours and say, "hey, you know--I heard you were on hard times. I'm going to pray for you. Go on home now, and you stay warm and fed, alright?" And then we mosey on home to our Sunday afternoon dinners and our comfortable lives where, while there might be occasional hiccups in the smooth passage, we don't have to worry about breakfast tomorrow morning.

But aren't we sort of missing the point? Aren't we completely ignoring what James told us to do? Yes, there are many great charity programs that are run by churches. They feed a lot of people, both in America and out. Money is being constantly sent overseas to buy cornmeal, rice, and even meat for small schools and churches in African and Asian countries. Some of those people, yes, are our brothers and sisters in Christ. But we're ignoring the problems right under our noses. We're so busy with feeling spiritual--setting our Facebook status to a really great Bible verse, trying to raise awareness for our newest pet cause in Africa, campaigning to make abortion illegal--that we forget that without our faith manifesting itself into the physical realm, it means absolutely nothing.

There's a saying I once heard. I don't know who originally said it. It's probably as old as Christianity itself. But it's simply this: If you can't be a missionary at home first, you're not going to be an effective missionary elsewhere.

Until you start taking care of things close to home, you can't be an effective crusader for women's rights in Afghanistan. Until you are willing to help out a family in need that goes to your church, you can't be an effective volunteer at a food bank. Until you are actively living out the things you say you believe, it doesn't count for anything. God doesn't care about rhetoric; he cares about action.

Can it be difficult, thinking about making sacrifices for our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ? Of course. Nobody ever said it would be easy. I'm sure that the people who were reading James' letter thought he was crazy. "What? He's saying we should all chip in like those crazy Christians in Antioch and have everything common and help each other? What about the poor people around us? What about them? Surely they can go find help elsewhere--they have families, support systems!"

But they didn't, and they don't. The Church was designed to be a support system. When the author of Acts talked about how the early Christians had "all things common", that's what he meant. He meant that they all chipped in when something was needed. But we've become so focused on our own needs, our wants, the things that are immediately in front of us, that all we can say to Christians who need help is, "Well, that sucks. I'm pretty sure the government runs a fund for losers like you...good luck. Go eat and keep your house warm this winter."

If a brother or sister...

- Kyla Denae

priorities and futures

People say that there are many things that shape us--our family, our churches, society at large, what sort of foods we eat, what books we read, etc. Those things shape us, but I believe it is our priorities that show what sort of shape we've been made into, if that makes sense.

For the past three years, I've been meaning to find lucrative employment of some sort. Being a teenager without a stable source of transportation, I necessarily fell back on the classic job of teenagers everywhere: fast food or bagger at a local grocery store. Of course, I find neither of these options particularly thrilling. Actually, they don't attract me at all. The only real job that actually appeals to me on any level is opening a coffee shop or working at a second-hand bookstore that doesn't see much business, that way I can spend most of my time curled up in a corner reading books I've never seen before. That is my dream job.

Actually, I lied. My actual dream job is somehow earning money by traveling. I wish I could get paid for just going places. I wish a paycheck would materialize in my bank account just because I traveled to the Great Wall or went to see the Tower of London or a Mayan pyramid. I wish spending time with the kids at my Good News Clubs would bring in a paycheck.

Basically, I just wish I could subsist on love itself. I wish that all of those times when I'm so deliriously happy that time could freeze and I wouldn't mind at all could somehow be transformed into everything I need to survive. I wish that God would work a miracle for me and birds would bring me food every morning, wherever I am.

My priorities have never been with making money. Yes, I understand money is important. I know it's necessary. I'm learning that more and more as I get older, as I'm suddenly about to graduate and turn eighteen and leave my family and look for life's purpose. I'm realizing that, someday, I'll get married and there will be kids and a house payment and a car to put gas into and utilities to pay and clothes to buy and animals to feed and doctor bills to be paid and responsibilities and little minds to shape. I'm realizing that life can't ever be like I want it to be.

But I still can't force my mind to really wrap itself around that concept. I still want to just set out one day, and just walk across Europe with a camera and a notebook and just write down everything I see and take pictures of people that are going about their lives and will, at some point, wonder what in the world this crazy ginger woman is doing taking pictures of them. I want to go places and meet new friends and learn new languages and get laughed at when I can't pronounce simple words properly. I want to experience every culture on earth and find true love and see a child find a true home and kiss the face of orphans all over the world and adopt one of them--or ten of them.

I want Christ to be my number one priority. I never want a job and the pursuit of money to mean more to me than that. I want to be able to leave everything at the drop of a hat and simply go somewhere because I feel like I should. I want to be able to go dance in a meadow at completely random times just because life feels so good and it would be a shame to waste it.

I never want to be one of those stuffy people who are so set in their ways that they can't live. That they can't breathe. That they can't see beyond what they themselves have seen. I want the world to be my backyard.

Most of all, I simply want to spend every moment being, and being for a purpose. I want to be for the cause of Christ. That is my priority, and I like to think it always has been and always will be. That is who I am, and what I will be.

- Kyla Denae

dauntless uncovering

I've never had a friend that I could tell literally everything to.

I've never had a friend that I could talk with about every thing that happens.

I've never had a friend that I could simply sit with, in companionable silence.

I've never had a friend that I could tell about every struggle without fear.

I've never had a best friend, I guess.

I wonder sometimes if I'm missing out on something here; if there's some sort of mystical connection that is formed with a true best friend that I can touch and feel. I don't know if it's because I'm that awkward, nerdy girl that drifts on the outside of activities, never quite coming into the center of things because she doesn't do sports and prefers to sit on the sidelines, hunched over a book, or if it's because I'm not the sort to put myself forward.

Maybe it's because I prefer to be the listening friend--the one that listens to everyone's woes and cares and tries, in some paltry way, to offer advice. I'm the sort of person who tries to appear to be strong, who projects an image of pulled-together strength to the world, or tries. I'm the one who always has a smile on, no matter how much I want to cry inside. I'm the one who, while struggling with an addiction for most of my teenage years, still put an arm around a friend's shoulders and told her that God still loved her despite her mistakes--while, at the end of the day, I find myself incapable of believing it myself.

I'm just your average teenage girl, the one who doesn't want others to see her hurts, so hides them away. I'm the girl that smiles and sings like she has no cares even though her mind is burdened with so many things.

So consider this my unburdening. My uncovering. My thrusting of everything upon an unsuspecting world. My revelation. My showing you that I've never been as strong as I made you think.

- Kyla Denae

one problem at a time

On the last day I was in China, a couple members of our team (plus myself) went out into Guangzhou to buy some breakfast. The rest of our team was sleeping in, so we were by ourselves. We stopped at this little roadside place--it looked like a carport, to be honest, with a dirt floor and a cooker on a rickety table. A few men were sitting inside on overturned buckets and crates, talking back and forth in rapid-fire Chinese while the cooks (two women, one older than the other) made their food. We got this yummy, rather watery porridge with rice, some green stuff, and a few chunks of meat in. We also got youtiao, which is the most amazing bread on the face of the planet, especially when you sprinkle sugar on it.

We walked a few paces down the road and settled down in front of an apartment building; there were some steps there that we could sit on, so we did. About halfway through our meal, this beggar man came up. He stood maybe five feet from us, watching us, occasionally saying something in Chinese that I'm guessing was a plea for money. We carefully avoided looking at him, trying to carry on our own conversations, but it was difficult. He was just standing there, asking for help, and every American tenet and stricture to foreigners told us we couldn't help him--even though I had plenty of yuan in my pocket.

I came across this in Zambia, too. I come across it at home. Maybe not so blatantly--nobody's (hopefully) going to accost me while I'm sitting down and eating my breakfast. But it does happen. How many of us drive right past a homeless man on a street corner nearly every day without a second glance? Wherever we go, needy people will be an ever-present reality.

Our culture tells us that poor people, and especially homeless people, must somehow be at fault for their position. We see a man on a street corner with a ratty jacket, broken-down shoes, and a carboard sign, and the first thought that pops into our mind is "free-loading druggie" or "alcoholic who doesn't want to take care of his kids". We see a woman with a hat jammed down over her hair, her clothes old and worn, and we might think "prostitute". Our entire culture tells us not to give these people money; that they'll just use it for less than honorable purposes and you'll have wasted it. When we go overseas, we're told we'll get thronged with needy people if we help one, that it's too dangerous to help because we might get hurt (at least in our pocketbooks).

Yet there's nothing like this attitude in scripture. We look at Jesus, the man who would walk through a crowded building, a building full of the stench of death and disease--so many people who needed helping that it was quite possible if he touched one he'd be stifled by the rush of people yearning for healing--and yet his only thought was for the one person before him. He dealt with the lame man, then moved on to the woman with leprosy, and then to the child who couldn't see, and then to the grandfather that couldn't hear. There were always a few that he couldn't get to, that couldn't make it to him through the crowd. Some had good friends who would pull up a roof to get their friend to him. Some would crawl through merely to touch the corner of his robe. But Jesus always focused on one thing--the person right in front of him and what they needed.

I wonder if maybe we shouldn't practice this as well. Yes, we can't heal all the hurts in the world. We can't even come close. But that's not what we're supposed to do. The effort (and the worrying about it) would drive us mad. Instead, I think we're supposed to focus on one thing at a time, and that's the person right in front of us and their problem. We're not supposed to give thought to tomorrow, to our bodies, to what might become of us because, ultimately, everything is in God's hands. And it could just be that he's going to use us to speak to someone, even if it's through something as simple as extending five bucks or a happy meal.

We are called to be the light of the world, not the lighthouse keepers that are so afraid of making someone angry or getting hurt that we never turn on the light.

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

I want to dream big dreams

My very best friend in the whole wide world, Chelsea, came back to town this past weekend. For those who haven't been on my blog for very long, she's been gone for the past eleven months on an epic missions trip known as the World Race. Basically, she traveled to eleven different countries, including Thailand, Nepal, Moldova, South Africa, India, and Swaziland. I missed her very, very much, so getting to just sit and talk with her about all that's happened over the past year was amazing. Hopefully she'll be making another trip here before she leaves the country again so we can catch up even more. (There's also a prospective year-long trip the two of us might take to China sometime in the future. So we can really catch up.)

In any case--most of that is largely irrelevant, I just wanted to introduce you to the amazingness that is my best friend. Last evening, we drove together to church (well, she drove; I sat in the passenger seat and talked. Since both of us driving, or even just me driving, might have led to quite a bit of confusion), and we were talking a little about praying big and, as an extension of that, dreaming big.

While I was in China, the campers would attend lectures on different subjects. Teamwork, changing the world, that sort of thing. One of the lectures at Sunshine was about our dreams--the things we want to see happen, the things that would make our individual worlds perfect, the things that we would die happy after having seen. The speaker had us all write down our dream. Then he told us to look at our dream and ask ourselves how "big" it was.

Things like wanting to be a doctor, wanting to travel, wanting to get married, those are "little" dreams--so little, in fact, that they're hardly dreams at all. They're attainable goals, things we're looking forward to doing. A true dream is the absolute height that we can imagine. It is the deepest desire of our heart. A true dream is something so hugely audacious, so ridiculous, so fantastically absurd, that it seems as if it will never come true. A true dream is something that only a miracle can bring you.

My dream, if you'd like to know, is that there not be a child in the world without a home.

That there not be a home without adequate food and water.

That there not be a person who has to die because they didn't get a pill.

That there not be corruption.

That there not be wars that cause so much harm to ordinary people.

That is my dream. It is something so amazingly, ridiculously huge that only God could bring it about. And that, truly, is what a dream is. It's something that seems impossible--is impossible--without God. It is something that, even with God's help, we can barely imagine. It is something that seems almost absurd to us. It's the stuff, literally, of dreams.

We have a God who delights in making dreams come true. He's the one who took a poor shepherd boy and turned him into the greatest king ever known. He's the one who took a lowly fisherman and turned him into one of his most important apostles. He's the one who took a prostitute and made her an ancestor of his son. He's the one who took so many mess-ups, rejects, and disappointments and turned them into masterpieces. He's the author and finisher of our faith, a master painter who delights in blowing our minds.

He's the one who said "whatsoever ye ask, ye shall receive." That, to me, is a challenge. He's saying--"Yeah, you can pray for the health of your dog. You can pray for all sorts of small important things. Or you can pray something completely crazy, and watch me work."

Sometimes we have trouble with that "whatsoever". It's implied over and over that praying for crazy things just hurts us. Praying for things that we know won't happen will just hurt our faith. That, ultimately, they might even be selfish prayers and hence sinful. But I don't think so. I mean, sure, if you pray for a million dollars, not only will it hurt your image of God when you don't get it, but it's also very selfish. But that's not the sort of prayer I'm talking about.

I'm talking about praying for the presence of God to settle on a mosque.

I'm talking about praying for the healing of a family that's rejected God.

I'm talking about praying for the miracles that God can do to settle upon a nation.

I'm talking about praying for God to reveal himself to a tribe that's never heard.

Sometimes these prayers can be answered in the craziest ways, it's true. Sometimes God will answer those prayers by sending you to that mosque or those tribes or that nation. Sometimes God will completely blow your mind, and even make you a little afraid, with the way he'll answer things. But if he put you into it, he has a plan. He had a plan since before you voiced the prayer.

Don't be afraid to dream big dreams, and to pray big prayers that go along with them. Dream big, pray big, and do it with freedom, because you have a God that's bigger than any dream you could possibly imagine.

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

Heart Sore...

"At one of the Graveyards here in [my hometown], the officials in charge were asked by a group of Muslims, that they demanded a section just for Muslims. The officials told the Muzzies NO."

"Why don't they demand a free ride back to their country where they can get the respect they deserve."

"shudda told em for christains only"

"‎the christian graveyard would be decapitated heads and nothing else. We just need to NUKE THE SONSABITCHES."

My heart hurts right now. The above conversation was carried out by one of my friends on Facebook and several of his friends. They all claim to be Christian. And they make me weep for what Christ's Church has become. They make me weep for all it was meant to be. They make me weep, because this is not what it is supposed to be.

But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them who despitefully use you, and persecute you...

The person who said that was killed. He was forcibly dragged from his private prayer meeting in a private garden, betrayed by a man he had spent every moment with for the past three years--training, teaching, loving. He was dragged to a place where the most important people in the religion that had worshiped his Father for so many centuries accused him, beat him, and called him the foulest names in the book. Then they sent him to the despised Romans, the people who had wrested control of his people's homeland from them, just to add a veneer of legality to the whole proceeding. He was beaten, his back torn open, his life's blood poured upon the ground. He was mocked and humiliated by the people he had come to save. And then they put him upon the most sophisticated, yet most brutal, torture device known to man, and let him hang there to die. Through his blood, we find remission. He came back to life for us, so we could find freedom. He's building a beautiful place for us, where there will be no more pain.

That is what someone did for us, someone so very important.

And yet, somehow, people still think that their words are okay. That somehow, they have no bad repercussions. That somehow, they're still being good ambassadors for Christ.

The annals of the past are filled with stories that seem quite frightening. Pioneer missionaries, first making inroads into Africa, bringing the light of the Gospel. Their stories are filled with dangers, fears of the unknown. Cannibals, plague, wild animals, tribes that worshiped strange spirits and listened to the every whim of medicine men. These missionaries could be killed at a moment's notice. And, very often, they were. They gave their lives for the one who meant everything, who had sacrificed so much and given his all for them--and they gave their lives for much the same reason. Yet it never made them stop, never made them wonder whether there was a different way. They died, and others filled their place.

Disease. Victory. Famine. Joy. Death. Life.

Where is the love that would do that? Where is the love that sent these people to those places to die? More than that...where's the love that sent the most important One of all to die? Where is the love that would say "not my will, but thine be done?" Where is that today? Where is the love that would say, "You know what, you're trying to kill me. You're in bondage, enslaved to this idea. Let me tell you about my Savior. You don't want to hear it--that's fine. There will be others, with the same sort of love, the same undying passion for you, a sinner who has murdered and lied and stolen. They will come to tell you of a man, who was so, so much more than a man, who died for you."

Where is the Christian love that will look at dead Christians overseas and see it as a reason to send yet more missionaries? Where is the Christian love that will spend hours every night on its knees for lost men who know no other way? Where is the Christian love that will cry out, from the depths of a bleeding heart and will say, "God, send me! These are your children, your precious creations, each one unique and beautiful and wonderful in your sight! Send me to change them through you, to make them new creations, to show them the beauty and wonder that can only be found in you!"

Where is the Christian love that will look up into the eyes of an executioner and say, "I forgive you." Where is the Christian love that will give up its own salvation for the sake of its lost and dying brethren?

Where is the simple, earth-shattering idea that there is something stronger than hate and lies, and that it is truth and love?

Where is the love and desire that turned the world upside down with a handful of poor, illiterate men and women?

Somehow, people think that because they're not like us, because their rhetoric is as hateful as ours, because they've insulted us, Christ's words don't matter anymore. Love can't possibly conquer that, they say. Roadside bombs and enemy armies and conspiracies--when have they ever stopped Christ's message?

Those same people would call me idealistic. We have to fight, because they're trying to kill us. Jesus never said anything about not defending yourself. I have my head in the clouds, because we need to fight back: they're a threat!

And we can turn the world upside down. Let's not return hate with hate. Let's not respond to the killing with more killing. Let's reach out to these people, Christians, run the risks, spread the Word. Let's do something a little foolish and utterly, wonderfully mad, like inviting a bunch of Muslims and Christians over to our house for a hamburger cookout. Let's find out why people are being radicalized and do something to stop it. Let's realize that our rhetoric only feeds theirs, and stop running our mouths.

Most of all, let us live like our Savior did. Let us be willing to die for him, as he was for us.

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

Right on Time

So. Sometimes, I find God's timing nothing short of...well, pretty hilarious, actually.

I mean that in a very, very good way.

Being the control freak and worrier that I am (anybody remember the absolutely frantic posts I wrote back in April? I do.) I've already begun to spazz about the roughly $5,000 I'm going to need for my planned summer activities.

My word, why do I do this to myself?

Basically, I'm going to be focusing on Romania fundraising. That's about $2,000. I'm hoping to be able to go to Zambia on $3,000. But, back in September, it seemed like a smart idea to tell God that I wasn't going to start fundraising for that trip--I wanted to focus on Romania, and if he wanted me to go to Zambia, I'd trust him to provide.

See, this is why I do things like this to myself. I think that I'm actually going to be able to exercise a little bit of trust. But I don't. Silly, silly me.

This is probably more of just a commentary on my character more than anything else. Of course I began stressing about it. I started thinking about all the reasons God might not want me to go to Zambia, then I started thinking about not going to Zambia, and then I thought that maybe not going to Zambia might be better. Then I thought about little African children and their singing and their playing, and that ended that.

Because you see, I love Africa. But I still don't know why I do this to myself.

And so the cycle begins again. Trusting, believing God will provide because, after all, I want to go to Zambia. But what if I want to go to Zambia, but God doesn't want me to go to Zambia? What will I tell the missionaries? What will I tell the people I've told about my potential trip? Will they feel let-down? Am I letting this trip become more about the people around me and my own desires than about God? Will that make God not want to let me go to Zambia? Will I not get to go to Zambia?

But I want to go to Zambia!

So here I sit, full of countless worries, and then the money issue plunks right back into my lap. Almost $4,000 before the first of the year? Please. You've told maybe half a dozen people you're planning to go to Zambia. And your blog readers. All four of them. Woopiee for you. You're not going to be able to go to Zambia. That's simply too much money, and God's obviously not going to just plunk it in your lap. Maybe you should start fundraising. Maybe you should just forget this whole thing you're doing. After all, this faith is passive. It doesn't do anything. It doesn't express itself in works. Sure, you're starting work for Romania, but that hardly counts.

And I think, for just a second, that maybe I should just give it up, forget the whole venture. Just be content with going to Romania.

And then my pastor preaches on the awe-inspiring faithfulness of God.

*"God is faithful..."

All the time, no matter our circumstances, no matter what we think he's doing, God is always, always faithful. He will never forget us, he will never forget our needs.

"That in every thing ye are enriched by him, in all utterance, and in all knowledge...So that ye come behind in no gift..."

As my pastor put it: 'we can have confidence in Him to accompany us as we serve and venture out for him and stretch in our serving Him.'

Ouch.

Okay, God.

Not quite what I expected.

But okay.

I think I'm ready to try out that whole trust thing again.

No, I've not gotten some big check. No, I still have absolutely no idea how God is going to provide for a $2,000 plane flight to Zambia, Africa before the first of the year. Not a single clue. I don't know by what means he's going to send that money. I haven't the foggiest. But one thing I do know.

He is always, always faithful. He always has been, He always will be.

And everything will work out for His glory. So here I am, trying yet again to set out on this journey of faith and make something of it other than a huge mess.

*Scriptures from 1 Corinthians 1:5, 7, 9

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

A Deep Heart's Yearning...

I found this graphic on Tumblr recently. And I'm sort of in love with it, even though it's awful and shows just how terrible the world actually is.

Sometimes, it's so easy to fall into a pattern of life, where nothing matters but my relatively easy, blissful existence. Then I go to Africa, where people don't have even 1/4 of the things I consider necessary for life--they're thankful for the bare bones, the food they get, the clothes they wear, the roof over their heads. And they're happy with it. My American mind can't wrap itself around that.

Or I go to someplace like China, where it's difficult to be a Christian. (Speaking of which, I got a new shirt for my birthday: it says "This shirt is illegal in 51 countries" on it. And I'm quite pleased with it.) And I realize just how fortunate I actually am. Today in church we had a missionary to Turkey who preached. He talked about how the people there are Muslim because they've never heard the Gospel. For real--literally none of them have ever heard the Gospel. They simply don't know that there's any other way to live life!

I mean, to think that I could have so easily been born somewhere else, where life could have been so radically different because of some random genetic accident...it's amazing. But here I am, having heard the Gospel, having chosen to accept Christ, having Him in my heart and my life, being free...and all for a purpose. I firmly believe that. And I also believe that my purpose has something to do with all those problems that are in that graphic up there.

This world has a caste system. That system is so firmly entrenched that it's virtually impossible to even jostle it. I don't know how to move it one fraction. I don't know if it's even really possible. But one thing I do know, and that is that two men turned the world upside down in Acts. They had an entire nation who knew exactly what they stood for because of one simple belief they held --that there was Someone who loved them, who died for them. Who loved me. Who died for me.

And in the end, the one thing that can cure any spiritual ailment, the one thing that can lift anyone up above what they were born into, is Jesus Christ. It's the Gospel. Simple as that. And that is my life calling.

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

Wherever, Whatever

سلام لكم في هذا اليوم

I think sometimes, we dramatize what we see as "the big things." I'm going to China. That's a "big thing." Some people dedicate their lives to overseas missions - they go and live and die overseas, in the pursuit of bringing a precious few to Christ. There are those who preach in front of thousands of people every week. There are people who give thousands of dollars in offerings every week. There are people who raise perfect children who go on to become missionaries and pastors and song-leaders.

But sometimes, I think, when we look only at the "big things" we forget how important the "small things" are. Being cheerful at home. Being kind. Content. Happy. No matter what our circumstances are, being able to respond with joy.

I struggle with those little things. I have problems with my temper. My little sister and I can't seem to live together (she seems to think typing is annoying, but I shan't get into our many arguments at the moment). My dad sometimes gets on my nerves (okay, a lot). [And here I am, confessing my life problems to you all. Just so you know, this proves that bloggers' lives are rarely - never, in fact - perfect. Far from it.]
We forget - I forget - that wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, however things are going, no matter what's coming up, I should be content right now. I should go everywhere with all my heart, with every God-imbued passion I have. Because if I can't, what am I doing going there?

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty